


Purple Lightning of Loss

by BlueBoxDetective



Series: A feeling Angel and an angelic Human [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Lovesick Dean Winchester, Lovesickness, M/M, Memory Loss, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20877737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBoxDetective/pseuds/BlueBoxDetective
Summary: Cas heaves himself into a sitting position, away from Dean, and the hunter’s hand falls limply to his side.“Cas?” Dean probes, and for a split second the angel looks at him, before he turns around like he is expecting someone else to react to the name. The hunter swallows hard as Cas finally speaks.“I’m sorry,” Cas hesitates, “are you talking to me?”_____This is part of a series, but in case you want to read it as a standalone, there is a short summary of what you need to know in the notes at the beginning.





	Purple Lightning of Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Recap of what you need to know in case you didn't read "An Angel with Feelings":  
After a demon calls Cas out for his unrequited feelings for Dean to hurt the angel, Dean finds the courage to tell Cas the demon was wrong. They fall more or less head over heels into a relationship, and when Dean consumes some bodily fluids from the angel, he begins to grow wings and get light versions of the powers of an angel. They go through traumatizing events like Cas being abducted and ripped from grace again (and getting it back), leading Cas to develop severe PTSD. When Dean learns that the sound and feeling of his heartbeat helps Cas, he gets them rings that allows them both to feel the other's heartbeat at all times. Like that, they are eloped after only nine months of being in a relationship, but they are both more than happy about it.

“Watch out!” Dean yells as purple lightning starts to form at the witch’s fingertips. Cas’ head spins around to him, a questioning look on his face, before the energy hits him with the force of a truck and sends him flying into the nearest bookshelf. Dean doesn’t recognize the voice coming from his throat as he charges the small, grinning woman, but Sam reacts first. The bullet digs right into her chest, and her eyes widen in shock or pain – probably both – as her gaze turns to the younger Winchester. The lightning, still extending to Cas, flickers and bends towards the ground before it dies with the witch hitting the ground.

Dean stares at the empty look of the black-haired woman for a few seconds before he can shake himself from his stupor, and the iron knife clatters to the floor as he rushes to the angel’s side. Cas has slumped down at the bottom of the destroyed bookshelf, scattered books surrounding his motionless figure.

Dean grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him, repeating the angel’s name as he scan’s his body with his eyes. Cas stirs slowly, his face pulled into a grimace and his fingers searching the tiled floor for nothing in particular. The older Winchester sighs in relief, his voice softer as he asks: “Cas?”

The angel opens his eyes before he presses them shut again, a groan rolling over his lips. A hand shoots up to his head and presses against his temple. Dean reaches out and strokes his upper arm, shifting on his knees into a slightly more comfortable position. In the background he can hear Sam rummaging around the room.

“Easy there, buddy. You probably hit your head quite hard.” Cas will be able to heal himself without a problem once he is conscious enough, so Dean isn’t overly worried about him blinking into the light. With squinted eyes Cas looks around, his gaze fluttering across the room. Dean gently squeezes his arm as he assures: “Sam took care of the witch. We’re good now.”

For the first time since Cas has opened his eyes, he looks at Dean, and the hunter freezes in his motion. The angel’s expression is blank, his look searching Dean’s face for something he doesn’t seem to find, and within a second he moves on, looking around with the same expression. Cas heaves himself into a sitting position, away from Dean, and the hunter’s hand falls limply to his side.

“Cas?” Dean probes, and for a split second the angel looks at him, before he turns around like he is expecting someone else to react to the name. The hunter swallows hard as Cas finally speaks.

“I’m sorry,” Cas hesitates, “are you talking to me?”

///

Dean is forced to take multiple breaths before he finds his voice again. He doesn’t want to admit how much his voice falters once he speaks, but a bad feeling creeps into his stomach.

“I… Yeah, ‘course I am. Who… Who else would I be talking to?”

Cas doesn’t answer, but instead looks around again. His eyes fly over the scattered books and the broken shelf behind him before he spots Sam coming over. The dead body behind the younger hunter is now wrapped up into one of the velvet curtains that had covered the stained-glass windows. The angel shifts further towards the remnants of the bookshelf, away from the two hunters.

“You guys alright?” Sam asks casually once he reaches the men. Cas is staring up at him, his eyes wandering from his head to his chest. The angel tenses as he spots the gun Sam has shoved into his belt, and he scooches away even further, toppling over some stacked books in his way. Dean throws Sam a quick look.

“I… I don’t think so,” he falters and absent mindedly pushes a few books to make room for his brother. As Sam sinks to the ground, Cas quietly queries:

“I apologize. Who are you?”

Dean feels like somebody has punched him in his guts. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Sam recovers sooner.

“We’re Sam and Dean. Winchester.” The angel doesn’t look like he recognizes the names at all. His eyes are still widened as he stares at the brothers. “We were on a hunt together, remember?”

Sam’s voice is warm, but Dean can hear the concern in it. Cas’ eyes flicker between the two of them, and occasionally the gun in Sam’s belt. Dean swallows hard when the angel slowly shakes his head. Cas lowers his gaze.

Sam clears his throat and probes: “Cas… What do you remember?”

Dean holds his breath. Cas stares at the ground, his blank expression turning sad. His voice is quiet as he answers:

“Nothing.”

///

Cas doesn’t look overly convinced that he really lives with the brothers, but in the end, he does get into the impala with them. He blankly stares out of the window, and it looks so familiar and yet so different that Dean feels his chest clench at the view. They drive mostly without talking at all; the awkward silence making each of them sigh once in a while. They basically jump out of the car when Dean finally pulls into the garage of the bunker and the engine rumbles before going silent. Sam is quick to grab their bags out of the trunk and slamming it closed with a final bang, leaving Dean to deal with Cas, who is looking around the place while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Dean runs his hand through his hair with a sigh before he probes:

“Recognize anything?”

The angel shakes his head without looking at Dean. The hunter tries to ignore how the small spark of hope gets trampled down by the simple gesture and mutters: “Follow me. I’ll show you around.”

Dean leads Cas through the narrow hallway, where the angel drags a finger along the wall. It looks out of place, out of character for Cas, so Dean tries to ignore it just like the ache in his stomach. They reach the door that leads to the angel’s room; the hunter pushes it open for him.

“That’s your room. Um. Bathroom is down the hall; my room is over there and Sam’s opposite.” Dean points into the directions and Cas follows his movements with an empty stare. “If you walk past those rooms, you’ll reach the kitchen through the archway on your right and if you walk even further, you’ll find the library. Want me to show you?”

“No, but I appreciate the offer.” Cas states without looking at Dean. He steps into his room, eying the furniture. His gaze stops at the small potted plant, still blooming despite the lack of sunlight. Then he turns towards the bookshelf with the thick books from the New York Public Library Cas hadn’t been able to return once he broke his wings. The angel reads the titles and runs his fingertips over the covers.

“Thank you for showing me here.” Cas eventually implies with his tone in a way that has Dean know he is no longer welcome. Only then does Dean notice that he is still staring at the angel, something he had grown so used to he doesn’t even think about it anymore.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, “sure. No problem. Let me know if you need something.”

Once the door softly clicks shut Dean understands why he feels like he’s been hit in the guts again. Somewhere deep in his heart he had hoped Cas would recognize his room, snap out of whatever state he is currently stuck in. Dean stands in the empty hallway for too long, staring at the closed door in front of him. He doesn’t hear a sound from the other side, but well, what was he hoping for? His eyes are burning when he finally turns and shuffles towards the war room.

Sam looks up from his computer, and Dean wants to slap the sympathetic look of his face.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Dean snaps, short of throwing a chair across the room. Instead he sinks into it and rubs his hand over his face.

“Did he recognize anything here? In his room, maybe?”

“No. Nothing.” The older brother sounds beat, and he stares at the ceiling. Sam sighs, pushing his laptop closed.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Dean grits out between his teeth and clamps his hands around the armrest of the chair.

His younger brother looks at him for a moment, but Dean refuses to meet his eyes. His leg is bobbing up and down out of his own accord, nervous energy that is looking for any kind of outlet. Just before he is about to jump out of his chair again, Sam suggests:

“We could call Rowena.” The younger Winchester pulls out his phone and holds it in the air, apparently uncertain what to do.

“You think it was the spell?” Dean asks, his voice less aggressive than before. He leans in and rests his forearms on the table, grabbing the water bottle next to Sam’s laptop and tugging at the label. Sam shrugs his shoulders and spins his phone in his hands.

“I don’t know. But he’s an angel, I don’t think he could hit his head so hard that he…” Sam doesn’t finish his sentence, and Dean is somewhat relieved he doesn’t have to hear it out loud. “Do you?”

Dean shakes his head before he takes Sam’s phone from his hands and searches for Rowena’s contact. He puts her on speaker and the two of them listen to the mechanical beeps echo in the bunker. It takes the witch ages to pick up – at least that’s how Dean feels.

“Well hello Winchesters, what a nice surprise!” The British accent seeps out of the phone with the sarcastic comment.

“Quit it, Rowena, we have a problem.” Dean responds sharply, even though Sam shoots him a disapproving look.

“What kind of ‘we’ are you boys talking about? Is that a brotherly ‘we’ or more of an apocalyptic everybody ‘we’?”

“It’s Cas,” Sam answers before Dean can snap at the witch again, “we were hunting a witch earlier and… Um, to cut straight to it, Cas has kind of lost all his memories.”

A moment of silence follows in which Dean rips the label off the water bottle completely. He continues destroying it by shredding it to pieces.

“I would make a comment about you going after my fellow witches. But firstly, I really don’t care, and secondly, I fear somebody might kill me right though the phone for that. So…”

“Damn right I would,” confirms Dean under his breath.

“…I’m just going to ask right away, what specifically can’t our dearest angel remember?”

“Anything,” Dean spits out impatiently, and Sam explains more detailed: “He doesn’t remember his name, us, the bunker. I don’t even know if he remembers that he’s an angel.”

The silence at the other end of the phone weighs heavy in the room. Dean moves the pieces of paper around on the table.

“I’m coming over.” Rowena eventually announces and the line goes dead. When the brothers have processed the call, Dean shoves back his chair and makes a move to leave the room. Sam calls after him, but the hunter doesn’t turn around.

///

“Dean?” Sam’s voice comes muffled through the door. “Are you coming out for dinner?”

The older brother pries his eyes open and stares at the white ceiling over his bed for a second before he clears his throat.

“Coming,” he mumbles, not moving a muscle. The other side of the door is quiet for a moment, until Sam’s voice carries through the wood once again.

“Are you going to get Cas or do you want me to talk to him?” The younger Winchester’s voice is cautious, as if he knows he is walking on thin ice. Dean swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I’ll get him.”

Sam makes an affirmative noise before his steps fade from the corridor. Dean takes his time to untangle the crossed arms in front of his chest and sit up on his bed, blankly staring at the wall. Something inside him tells him to stay away from Cas in this state, while something else urges him to go and look after the angel. He kicks one of his discarded shoes with a sigh before he gets to his feet and shuffles out off the door.

Cas must know that he is standing in front of the door. Dean takes ages to muster up the courage to knock.

“Cas?” He asks, staring at his feet. “You… You coming? We’re having dinner.” The silence is deafening.

“I don’t eat,” Cas’ voice explains after a moment. It sounds calm. Distant.

“I know,” Dean sighs quietly, “but… um…” He scratches his head. “Cas, can I open the door? Feels strange, talking to you like this.”

Instead of an answer, the door opens. Cas is standing in front of him, looking just like he always does, in his ridiculous trench coat and in his own room, but his cold expression ruins the picture. Dean feels the lump in his throat again.

“Cas…” Dean doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. The angel looks away for a second before he quietly interjects.

“I… I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me that.”

Dean’s jaw slacks. Cas is looking away again, like he is trying to avoid Dean’s eyes. His voice is calm as he explains:

“It doesn’t sound right. You are asking for somebody I am not. Somebody I maybe was but am not anymore.”

“What…” Dean’s voice breaks and he clears his throat. Cas straightens his back as he awaits Dean’s answer. “What do you… want me to call you? Castiel? Something else?”

“Castiel sounds acceptable,” the angel nods firmly.

“Acceptable,” Dean echoes, like the word hasn’t caught up to him yet. The dull ache has returned to his stomach. The angel looks at him as if he’s waiting for Dean to leave. The hunter pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Okay. So… Castiel.” His voice sounds strained. “My brother and I are having dinner. We know you don’t eat, but… It would be nice having you there. You coming?”

Cas sighs so quietly Dean isn’t sure if he really heard it.

“I don’t feel like it right now, I apologize.”

“Oh.” Dean’s voice has lost all its sound. “Okay. Um. So… See you, I guess?”

“Yes, have a good evening.” Cas nods with a forced smile and closes the door in front of Dean’s face.

///

Dean lets himself fall into the chair at the kitchen table with a deep thunk. His back hits the wall too hard for comfort, but it barely recognizes. Sam has his back turned to him, shoving something around in a pan on the stove, probably a whole bunch of green stuff. He did notice Dean entering the kitchen, though.

“Is he coming?” Sam asks as he fills two bowls with whatever he cooked. He searches through the drawer for spoons and places a bowl in front of Dean, still waiting for an answer. The older brother pushes the pieces of vegetables and chicken around in his dish, neither eating nor talking.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Sam eventually concludes between two bites. He scrutinizes Dean, who is still poking around in his dinner.

“Dean, I need you to talk to me.” The younger brother finally states, his eyes filling with worry. Dean swallows and lets his spoon fall into his bowl. Then he shakes his head.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“You don’t get it,” Dean mutters when he finally finds his voice. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” Sam probes, his voice softer than Dean thinks he deserves. The younger Winchester has put his spoon down, too, even though his bowl is still half full.

Dean lets his head fall heavily against the wall and closes his eyes. He tries to speak around the growing lump in his throat.

“He asked me not to call him Cas.” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Oh,” is Sam’s quiet response. They sit in silence for a while.

“I…” his younger brother’s voice is cautious. “I guess I get it. Don’t you?”

Dean’s eyes snap open and he stares at Sam. Does he get it? Does it even matter? Does it make it any less painful? Sam doesn’t read his thoughts from his stare and elaborates.

“Cas is your… your name for somebody he doesn’t know. I would feel weird, too, in his position.” Sam picks up his spoon and eats a piece of broccoli while waiting for Dean to answer.

Dean doesn’t. Instead he stands up and turns.

“Dean…” Sam sounds equal parts annoyed and worried, “Don’t. I didn’t want to anger you.”

The older brother stops walking, but he doesn’t face Sam. His face up towards the ceiling he mumbles: “Like I didn’t know, Sam. He told me. And I knew anyway. Doesn’t change what it means, though.”

“At least eat something. You haven’t had lunch, either.”

“Sam, I feel sick to the stomach. I really don’t want to eat anything.”

His younger brother doesn’t call after him when he leaves this time.

///

Dean barely gets his door closed before he sinks to the ground. The last bits of energy he had used to hold himself together fade, and with them his shoulders slump. His back falls against the door and he pulls his knees close to his chest, propping his elbows on them and burring his face in his hands.

He doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t.

He runs his hands through his hair, and he grips tight. The pain makes it more bearable. It keeps him grounded.

“Cas…” his whisper is close to a whine.

For the first time in months, Dean feels truly alone. Lonely. He had become so used to Cas being around him, always close, that the distance physically hurts.

And he can’t get the blank stare out of his head. It was even more distant than when he first met the angel. At least then, Cas had wanted something from him. Wanted to talk, even if it was only about his mission. Today, Cas had closed the door in his face.

Not Cas. Castiel.

Dean whimpers and slides to the cold, wooden floor. His arms fall slack to his side and he stares straight ahead.

///

Once he musters up the energy to get from the floor to his bed, it feels too big. He rarely sleeps alone anymore, and he now notices how cold his room is without the always warm angel present. On a hunch he manifests his wings and draws them close around him, a cocoon of feathers. His aren’t black, but in the dark, he can pretend. He can imagine.

Minutes later he realizes he is toying with the ring on his finger while staring at the ceiling, trying to keep the thoughts out of his mind. His first instinct is to take the ring off, now that it doesn’t connect him to who it used to. But on second thought he taps the smooth surface and watches the slim line shimmer in the dark of his room. The electronics need a moment to find the signal in the depth of the bunker, but after a couple of seconds the line starts to pulsate.

Dean sighs deeply, watching the heartbeat on the ring. He balls his hand into a fist, clutching the ring tightly. The vibration is soft against his skin.

He can pretend. He needs to.

Dean doesn’t fall asleep for hours.

///

The hunter grips the mug in his left hand harder before he raises his free hand to knock at the door. His voice is rough, but calm as it carries through the wood.

“Castiel? I brought you coffee,” he hesitates, then adds, “do you want it?”

On the other side of the door he hears movement, and a moment later the angel opens the door.

“Thank you,” Cas nods and takes the mug, “that is very attentive of you.”

Dean nods and shifts his weight on his feet.

“Um… So Rowena came in early this morning. We would like for you to meet her, if that’s all right?”

Cas inspects his expression for a moment before he nods again. “Okay. Please excuse me for a few minutes, I will join you soon.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean steps back to show he’s leaving, hoping not to get a door closed in his face again. “We’re in the kitchen. Take your time.” He turns before the angel has time to reply.

Cas appears in the archway to the kitchen roughly fifteen minutes later. His eyes scan the place, making quick work of the kitchen utensils and catching on Rowena.

“Well hello, Castiel,” the witch greets him in a singsong voice, “how nice to see you.” Dean silently growls at her fluttering eyelids.

“I take it that you are Rowena.” Cas observes, standing still in the archway with his hands folded in front of his body. He has lost the trench coat and combed his hair flat to his head. It looks odd.

Sam nods and gestures to an empty chair at the table. “Yes, Castiel, this is Rowena. She’s a witch, we think she might be able to help with…” The younger brother blushes and clears his throat, “With whatever happened yesterday.”

The angel doesn’t react to the explanation in any way, he just sits down next to Rowena, opposite of the brothers. For a moment, they sit in awkward silence, Rowena and Cas eying each other, Dean staring at Cas and Sam, for some reason, watching Dean.

Cas breaks the silence: “How does Rowena differ from the witch yesterday so that she is allowed to sit in your home?”

The last two words are violently shoved down Dean’s throat and it renders him unable to even understand what the angel had asked. Thankfully, Sam is paying attention. Dean catches his younger brother shift uncomfortably in his seat out of the corner of his eyes.

“Rowena is… We are working together. Um. Helping each other out.”

The witch raises her eyebrows and meets Sam’s gaze with a crooked grin: “What, Samuel, are you struggling with the thought that I am too powerful for you to kill me or are you having trouble to admit that I might be one of the good girls?”

“Yeah, keep dreaming,” rasps Dean and rolls his eyes, “so, what do you need to know?”

The redheaded woman turns her attention to Cas, who has followed their little exchange without actual interest. “Castiel,” the witch leans closer, staring Cas in the eyes. Dean hopes she is trying to figure out what spell he is under, because otherwise, they are going to have a problem. “Do you recall what happened yesterday? Anything about the magic used, or do you perhaps feel dizzy and disoriented?”

“No.” The angel’s answer sounds final. “I don’t remember anything prior to waking up. And I feel normal, except for the fact that I am missing any information on who I was 24 hours ago.”

“I see,” Rowena mumbles and rummages through her ginormous handbag, “that’s not very helpful. You know, purple energy resulting in memory loss is not a lot to go on if I’m trying to reverse a spell.”

“You have an idea, though, don’t you?” Sam asks, his eyes big as if Rowena will find a spell if he looks like a hurt puppy enough. The witch places a triangular glass jar on the table that shimmers with a blue liquid and pulls out a small book.

“I do,” she explains while simultaneously flicking through the pages, stopping occasionally before shaking her head, “but don’t get your hopes up, boys. This is a simple reversing spell and will only work on basic magic. If the witch used anything remotely powerful, we will have to dig deeper. Get me a mug.”

Dean plucks a mug from the cupboard and shoves it across the table. The spark of hope is glowing again, but he’s trying to hold it dim. He crosses his fingers for the witch having been too occupied with three hunters to work out more than a simple spell. Rowena pours a generous amount of the mystery liquid in the cup and presents it to Cas. The angel takes it, eyeing her with a mixture of wonder and distrust. Only when Sam nods at him encouragingly does he down the contents. Dean remains standing, leaning against the kitchen island with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while the witch recites words in a language he doesn’t understand.

She finishes, and all six eyes rest expectantly on Cas. The angel catches Sam’s look before he lowers his gaze, thinking for a moment, then he shakes his head.

“I apologize, but nothing changed.”

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the hurt in his chest. Rowena rummages with her stuff and mumbles in annoyance: “This would be a lot easier if you hadn’t killed the witch responsible.”

Dean hears the indignation in his younger brother’s voice: “She killed seven innocent people, Rowena!”

“Yes,” the witch shoots back, “and then she bewitched Dean’s lover-boy – as far as I recall, family usually is more important to you than justice for others!”

Nobody knows how to answer to that, all of them stuck on different parts of the witch’s outburst. Rowena toys with the handle of her handbag, probably knowing that she hurt the others but too stubborn to apologize. Cas is the first one to stutter:

“I… I will, um, go to my room. Excuse me.” He nods in the general direction of Sam and Rowena before he leaves, avoiding Dean’s eyes.

“Shit!” Dean curses once Cas is out of earshot and bangs his fist to the kitchen island. “What the hell, Rowena?!”

“It is true, and you know that,” the witch claims, packing up her stuff unhurriedly.

“The bullet was to stop her from doing more harm to Cas!” Sam declares and flings his hands around in the air. Rowena looks up at him, her eyebrows raised.

“You interrupted the spell?”

“Yeah. I mean, probably,” the younger brother shrugs his shoulders and shoots a quick glance at Dean, but the latter doesn’t react, “it faded when she died.”

The witch sighs excessively and shoulders her bag. “That doesn’t make it easier. Unfinished magic has a tendency to… deviate. It-“

“Rowena,” Dean frees himself from his stupor and steps closer, “that wasn’t my point!”

The redheaded woman looks up at him with a confused expression. The older Winchester shakes his head in desperation. “Cas doesn’t remember anything about before. You just told him that he and I had… something. What the hell will he think about that?”

“Oh…” Rowena at least looks slightly embarrassed. Then she shrugs her shoulders. “He would have found out sooner or later.”

Dean bites back between gritted teeth: “I would have preferred him remembering it.”

The witch lays her hand on Dean’s upper arm: “I’m working on it. Until then, have fun.”

Sam and Dean watch her strut out of the kitchen in silence.

Once the sound of the bunker’s door echoes through the halls, Dean turns to the bedrooms.

///

He again finds himself struggling to muster up the courage to knock at the door. It takes him long enough that Castiel’s voice carries through the wood:

“What do you want, Dean?”

The hunter closes his eyes.

“Can we talk, please? Can I come in?”

The angel’s voice is distant. “All right.”

Dean pushes open the door and finds Cas sitting at the foot of the bed with his hands neatly folded in his lap. Nothing in the room seems to have been touched, the only thing different is the trench coat hanging from the back of the chair. Dean takes that chair and sits down opposite Cas, avoiding his gaze. He hadn’t even thought about what to say, and now that he is here, he can’t think of anything. Cas finally breaks the heavy silence.

“You are human, Dean, is that correct?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, shifting in the chair.

“If you don’t mind me asking… How did you acquire celestial traits?” The angel’s eyes rest on the wings that are folded on Dean’s back. He sounds curious from a scientific viewpoint, mildly intrigued. Dean’s face burns as he searches for an answer, but he doesn’t find one. Again, Cas breaks the silence.  
“Was it a result of… the relationship between you and Cas?”

Dean stares at him as Castiel tilts his head to the side, and the familiar gesture has Dean wish to curl up in a ball and vanish in a dark corner. Instead, he nods weakly.

“I figured,” Castiel acknowledges. He smooths out the untouched comforter on his bed while he mumbles: “I… I don’t know how this works, so if you need… A refill of any kind, you’ll have to let me know.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth multiple times before he chokes out: “I’m good, thanks.”

The angel just nods and turns to stare at the wall. The thought hadn’t even come to Dean’s mind that he might experience withdrawal from the angel juices he had been consuming. Sam had been in a wretched condition when he stopped drinking demon blood, but this far, Dean feels okay. Well, as okay as he can be with his angel gone. Castiel speaks more to himself than Dean when he thinks out loud:

“I probably should go to heaven. Live with the other angels.”

Dean screams internally, but no sound reaches his mouth. Cas is thinking about leaving. He clears his throat.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Castiel looks curious: “Why not?”

“Um,” Dean squirms in his seat. This was not where he had expected this conversation to go. Then again, he hadn’t really had any idea where it would go. “Angels are… well, most of them are dicks. And you weren’t really on speaking terms with them anymore. You know… Stuff happened.”

“Was that how I broke my wings?” Cas turns his head and carefully spreads his wings. They don’t look as damaged as they had after they were injured, but the angel still doesn’t seem comfortable. Dean can relate, his own fracture is still healing.

“No,” Dean’s voice turns soft with the memory, “that was… that happened on a hunt.” He leaves out the part about Cas willingly sacrificing his wings in order to keep Dean safe. It doesn’t feel right to tell.

The angel nods slowly. “So what happened? With the angels?”

Dean sighs as he tries to figure out where to start. “That’s… A long story. Starts with… god leaving heaven, I guess. Then there was fighting between Michael and Lucifer, then there was a war between you and Rafael, later you kinda turned into a god and…” He hesitates, thinking of a nice way to say ‘you killed a lot of angels’, “and many angels… they died. Then Metatron tricked you into closing heaven and all angels fell. We won against Metatron, so angels can go back to heaven now, but… You know, things are… tense.”

“Oh.” Cas’ voice is flat. Dean supposes he wouldn’t have known what to say to that, either.

“Is that…” The angel pauses and shoots Dean a look the hunter can’t interpret, “Is that why I live with you and your brother?”

Dean swallows. Twice. What is he supposed to say to that? ‘I hope it’s not the only reason?’ But it wouldn’t be fair to give the angel without any memory a half-ass answer. Dean settles on what he can say with confidence.

“You live with us because you have become family. With or without your memory, Castiel. We like having you here.”

The angel doesn’t look convinced, but Dean can’t think of anything else to say. After a minute passes without anyone saying something, the hunter gets up and turns to the door. His hand is on the doorknob when Cas states:

“I feel like I should give this back.”

When Dean turns around, Castiel is holding out the ring that has been on his hand a moment earlier. The sight feels like a knife to the hunter’s stomach, and he isn’t able to form any kind of sound when he slowly reaches out and takes the ring from Cas. The angel doesn’t say anything either, instead he turns his back the moment Dean holds the ring.

The hunter somehow manages to leave the room and stumble the few feet into his own. He stands there for a long time, his expression dead and his mind blank. He carefully opens the charger box and places Cas’ ring on its space to the right. Staring at it, he tugs the ring from his own hand and puts it to the left. When he can’t look at it any longer, he closes the box and the feelings come crashing over him.

Dean plummets on his bed. He stares at the air as the first tear drops from his eye. He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t feel like he ever will be able to.

His Cas – the one that he kissed for the first time after he had been possessed for day, the one that nearly made him drive into the oncoming traffic by asking him to explain sex out of the blue, the one that he had thought he would spend the rest of his life with two days ago – his Cas is gone. With the first tear escaped it is as if floodgates have been opened. Dean takes a shaky breath and it turns into a quiet sob.

Dean hates crying. He hates to succumb to his feelings. But with that much taken from him, it appears fair that he crumbles.

The hunter is aware that Cas is only a few rooms down the hall, and the last thing he wants is to let him know how hard this is for Dean. Castiel isn’t responsible for what happened, and the angel has enough to deal with already. So Dean grits his teeth and suppresses the wail that threatens to spill while he curls his upper body. His arms eventually move and wind around Dean’s stomach, trying to lessen feeling that something has been ripped right out of his core. It doesn’t help, but Dean can’t let go either.

The hunter forces himself to stay silent, with the effect that his head feels like it is about to explode from everything stuck inside him.

They had spent so much time afraid to say anything about their feelings, and when they finally did, it was stolen from them after less than a year. Dean regrets the time wasted. They could have had so much more time.

He can’t hold back anymore, and the next sob breaks free and shakes him violently. Tears are streaming down his face, forming wet patches on his clothes. He doesn’t bother to wipe away the tears, too many are following anyway. His breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t care.

It doesn’t matter anymore. It feels like nothing will matter ever again.

///

Very slowly the three of them settle into a new routine. It feels wrong, forced, but they make do with what they have. Dean makes coffee for the three of them in the morning, and when Sam comes back from his morning jogs, Cas joins them for breakfast. He doesn’t eat, but he spends the time with them. Five days after the incident with the witch Dean shuffles into the kitchen to find Cas sitting at the table in one of his ACDC shirts. He had probably left it in Cas’ room at some point, which Castiel couldn’t have known. The sight forces a quiet yelp out of him, and he turns on his heels, not leaving his bedroom that day until it is time for dinner. Sam has probably told Castiel why Dean had reacted that way, because later that evening, Dean finds the shirt neatly folded at the foot of his bed. On a hunch, Dean buries his nose in the shirt, but it doesn’t smell like Cas at all. Cas had… smelled of rain, and honey, and fall. The shirt Castiel has worn smells like cheap soap and dust. The hunter throws it into the laundry basket, where it hasn’t emerged from since.

Most days, Sam and Dean follow through with whatever has to be done that day while Castiel is either in his room or in the library. Dean suspects he reads a lot, now that all the books are new to him again. It rips a piece out of his heart when he spots Cas with the book that Dean had stolen month ago to get Cas to spend the night in his room. Now the angel is reading it again, alone. When one of the brothers cooks dinner, Cas usually comes to the kitchen and they chat about their day. He stays until the brothers have eaten, and on good days, he even joins them to watch TV. They re-watch The Big Bang Theory with him, and even though it is somewhat painful to hear the same comments about the inaccuracy of the show again, their small family feels at least partially okay on these days. Castiel is no longer sitting on the couch with Dean but in the chair that had previously been claimed by Sam, but at least he is with them. He is making an effort, they all can tell, and so is Dean. Slowly, very slowly, they all get to know each other again. It isn’t the same as before, it never will be, but it is something.

Cas looks to feel best when they are out hunting, and Dean suspects it is the only time the angel feels like he has any purpose. He hasn’t forgotten how to fight and proves to be a valuable member of their group time and time again. With that, Cas becomes more okay with living with them.

Things are weird, but they make the best of it.

Two weeks before Christmas, roughly four weeks since Cas has become Castiel, Rowena stands on their doorstep one morning. She has two bags thrown over her shoulder and holds a big, golden bowl in her small hands.

“It took me some time,” Rowena starts without a greeting, “but I am feeling good about this. I can’t be certain, of course, but this has a better chance of working than last time.”

Dean takes the bowl from her and steps out of the way, and the redhead confidently strides down the steps and into the library.

“What chance do you give it?” Sam asks as he saunters through the doorway, his laptop and multiple books tucked under his arm. Castiel follows a few steps behind and leans against the wall.

“Hm...” Rowena hums while she thinks and grabs the bowl back from Dean, “I would say last time had a success rate of 20 percent. This time… I’ll give it 60 percent.”

Dean swallows. “So it will either work, or it won’t,” he observes flatly.

The witch rolls her eyes and points out: “That is generally how the world works, Dean, yes.”

The older brother crosses his arms as he watches the woman prepare whatever witchcraft she is about to work. Sam settles into a chair at the other and of the table and has the nerve to work through one of the books he has brought with him. In Dean’s opinion, the possible case they had found this morning can wait until Rowena is done. But then, maybe this isn’t as important to Sam as it is to Dean. Or maybe Sam just doesn’t want to add to the tense silence in the room. Dean’s eyes move from Rowena to Castiel, who is still leaning against the wall motionless, and he catches the angel looking at him. It has none of the intensity it used to, Dean can’t spot any longing or tension. The hunter rather thinks that Cas looks kind of sad, maybe with a hint of pity. Dean quickly looks away, not in the mood to figure out what has Cas stare at him like that. He feels Cas look away when Rowena asks him for some of his hairs and the angel steps closer to the table.

When the witch starts chanting and the bowl in front of her lights on fire, purple flames licking out in a way that has Sam worriedly check on the books closest to them, Dean can’t help but lean in closer. The sight is enticing on the one hand, and on the other the flames look really close to the color the lightning had been. Dean is aware that he shouldn’t nurture any kind of hope, because 60 percent isn’t a promise and who know if Rowena is exaggerating, but he can’t quite keep his heart from jumping in anticipation.

Rowena yells the last words of the incantation and points her hand at the angel. Purple smoke forms and without a warning, a thin lightning hits Cas from her fingers. The angel yelps in surprise and takes a step back, but he is able to hold his balance. The witch takes a deep breath before she sighs, clearly tired from the spell work. Sam pulls out a chair for her while Dean just stares at Cas, his body frozen out of hope and anxiety at the same time. The angel runs a hand through his hair and keeps his head down, and the room falls completely silent.

When Cas looks up, his eyes meet Dean’s, and the hunter feels the pang of disappointment before the angel slowly shakes his head. A ragged noise crawls up his throat and for a moment he expects Cas to grin and tell him that he is messing with him, even though Dean would hate him for a joke like that and Cas would never do that. His brain is probably just repressing the possibility that it hadn’t worked. Again.

“I am sorry,” Castiel states, and his eyes are now filled with the pity Dean had sensed earlier. Rowena sighs deeply and Cas finally looks away from Dean, who feels like he is falling down a deep, black hole.

“It looked really promising,” Sam notes with a hint of optimism in his voice, “maybe it isn’t far off.”

“I don’t know, Samuel, there are countless spells out there. This just felt right because of the purple and the way the energy is channeled through a lighting, but apparently, this wasn’t it.”

Dean doesn’t feel like listening to their analysis of what went wrong. The gist of it is, it didn’t work. It didn’t work, again. Cas is still Castiel.

He isn’t even aware of the fact that he is walking away until Sam calls his name. He stops a second, noticing that Cas is in his way to the bedrooms, and changes his intention.

“I need some air,” he announces, and with that he is out the door. The morning is cold and dark clouds are hanging over the sky, but Dean doesn’t notice. He presses his eyes shut and concentrates on the bite of the frost on his face, takes a deep breath of the icy air. His hands ball into fists and he fights the hot liquid burning in his eyes. Like a toddler he stamps his foot on the ground, and when he feels the relief with it, he does it again. Seconds later he finds himself running, slamming his feet into the earth of the light forest around the bunker. The soles of his boots dig into the ground with each forceful stride, and Dean runs faster, working his legs harder into the ground.

The wind bites where it meets the tears that are running down his face, and the cold burns into his skin. He pants, the cold air burning in his lungs, but at least the pain is physical, real, unlike the ache that had hit him in the chest when Cas shook his head. This pain is real, this one he can deal with. He can work with it, do something about it. The one in his chest just won’t go away. Maybe it will never go away.

The tears are clouding his sight and it is only a matter of time until he trips, but he doesn’t care. His boot catches on a root or a stone, Dean doesn’t know, and the hunter falls. The rough ground digs into his palms and the air is forced out of his lungs as he crashes to the ground, and for a while, he just stays down. His breath is slowly calming, and he can feel the remaining angel juices fixing the graze in his palms, but it takes longer now than it did a couple of weeks back. He had noticed that his borrowed powers were fading, that his wings became more difficult to hide away and rested more heavily against his shoulders, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t sinking so low as to ask Castiel to give him some blood or something, he just wasn’t.

Gradually Dean gets to his feet, patting the dirt from his jeans. The only evidence from his fall is now the crusting blood on his uninjured hands, and Dean suddenly hates the view. He hates the fact that he still has something of Cas left in him, but Cas himself is gone.

Without thinking about it he punches his fist into the tree next to him, the one he probably tripped over. The bite of the rough tree bark against his knuckles feels liberating, like a valve for his emotional pain. He hits the tree again, and again, until his knuckles are deep red even though his skin is healing quicker than he can punch, and then he yells.

Dean screams at the clouded sky, the air from his lungs white clouds themselves, and it helps. The hunter shouts until his voice gives out, then he sinks against the tree trunk and sobs.

Dean has no idea how long he has sat there when someone finds him, but some time must have gone by since he is shivering violently from the cold and the clouds have passed by now. Out of all the people that could have found him, Castiel is probably the one he wants to see the least.

“Dean,” the angel sighs, and he actually sounds relieved. As if he has any reason to care about Dean now. The hunter closes his eyes, not prepared to deal with Castiel right now. That doesn’t make Cas leave, though, instead Dean interprets the rustling of clothes as the angel sitting down next to him. For a while, they sit in silence.

Until Cas decides it is a good idea to start a conversation with the words “I’m going to move out.”

Dean’s eyes snap open and his voice is hoarse from all the yelling when he bursts out: “What?!”

“I think it will be best for both of us. Sam agrees.”

Dean chooses to answer the easiest part of the new information: “Sam should shut his mouth about this.”

“Sam lives in the bunker, too.” Cas interjects, his eyes resting on the grey sky.

“Yeah, but Sam hasn’t just lost his…” Dean spots Cas turning his head and stares at the sky himself. Calmly he states, not finishing his sentence: “Sam doesn’t get a say in this.”

“But I do, don’t I?”

“Of course,” Dean grits out between his teeth. The ache in his chest is back, and it hurts more than ever before. Not only has he lost Cas, now he is about to lose whatever is left of him.

Castiel’s voice is warm when he explains: “I believe it is unhealthy for both of us to stay in this close proximity.”

“Why?” Dean ignores everything that went wrong the last couple of weeks. He thought it was getting better. Easier. Castiel had looked better. But maybe he just saw what he wanted to see.

“Dean,” Cas sighs, but there is no heat in it, “I see the way you look at me. You are still… searching for him, hoping that he comes back. But I’m not Cas, Dean, and I can’t ever be Cas. I know you have lost someone really important, but keeping me around is only holding you back. It is holding us both back. It won’t get easier if I stay. I’ll have to leave in order for us both to be able to start over.”

Breathing is suddenly a task that feels impossible. It hurts, and not only because the air Dean is inhaling is freezing.

“Don’t leave,” he manages to plead. He feels insufferable and clingy, but Cas leaving sounds like his world is going to end.

“I have to.” Castiel whispers, and he sounds sorry.

“No,” Dean shakes his head, slowly at first, then with more hurry, “no, please. Just… At least for Christmas. Stay for Christmas, Cas, please.”

The angel doesn’t call him out for his slip-up with the name. Dean stares at him, his eyes watering again, and he is shaking from the cold. Cas’ gaze is indecipherable, but then he nods.

“We’ll have Christmas, and after that, I’ll move out.” He declares as he stands up. The angel shucks the trench coat from his shoulders and wraps it around Dean’s.

“Come back to the bunker soon, okay? You’ll get ill if you stay out here for much longer.”

Without waiting for an answer, Castiel turns around and plods back the way he came. When the angel is out of sight, Dean pulls the trench coat to his face and cries. Crying had become an ugly habit, but he can’t stop the tears.

///

Sam looks like he knows what is coming when Dean stomps through the door to the bunker. The younger Winchester is sitting in the war room, closing his laptop as soon as Dean’s feet hit the steps. He turns towards Dean and looks at him, pity in his eyes. Dean hates the look, and it only fuels his anger at his younger brother.

He hasn’t even reached the last step when he yells at Sam: “Why the hell did you tell Cas to move out?!” His voice is scratchy from all the yelling in the woods. His fists ball into Cas’ trench coat, his lifeline or something similar.

“I didn’t,” Sam calmly explains, and Dean gets even angrier for him staying so composed, “he asked me if I thought that it would be a good idea, and I told him the truth. That I do think it is a good idea.”

“It is not! He belongs here, with us! With his family!”

“Dean, have you looked in a mirror lately? You are both miserable, and it isn’t getting any better! Rowena is working on breaking that spell, and I invest every second I have into helping her, but until Cas has his memory back, this isn’t helping anyone!”

Somehow Sam’s words take all the wind out of Dean’s sails. He deflates and his shoulders sink. Dean doesn’t look at Sam to avoid seeing the pity look again. Slowly he turns to the bedrooms, but pauses once more. He speaks to the floorboards:  
“If Rowena tires to break the spell again, please don’t tell me, okay? I can’t deal with that hope being stomped into the ground again.”  
“Yeah,” Sam’s voice is soft, “I get that. I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean shuffles to his bedroom. He keeps the coat.

///

The two weeks until Christmas go by too fast. The atmosphere in the bunker is light, but there is a hidden sadness. Everybody knows it is only so light because the clock is ticking.

When Dean wakes up on Christmas morning, he doesn’t know if he should feel happy or sad. He hasn’t decided yet when he has put on an ugly Christmas sweater he found at the back of his drawers and taken a cup of coffee with him to the library. Castiel and Sam are already up, chatting quietly in the light of the fake, wretched tree on the table.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean grumbles and gets a neutral one from Cas and an enthusiastic one from Sam back. The older brother flops into the chair next to Cas and eyes the presents under their improvised tree. He had put his under it first last night, so he hadn’t seen the other ones. They’ve all kept it small, and Dean is glad to see he didn’t misjudge the gift giving between them.

“Now that you’re up,” Sam grins without giving Dean time to put down his coffee, “I can’t wait any longer to give you this!”

The younger Winchester takes a small present from under the tree and pushes it over the table in Dean’s direction. The hunter catches it before it slides of the table and into his lap and gifts Sam a tried smile. The present is carelessly wrapped in newspaper and Dean’s name is hastily scribbled on it with black sharpie. Dean just rips the paper away and takes a second to figure his present out.

“Tickets to AC/DC?!”

“They’re playing nearby. Well, as close as possible when you live in a hole like Lebanon. But yeah, thought it might be fun!” Sam grins at him with excitement.

“Dude, nice! Didn’t even know they were touring.” Sam laughs and nods. “And you’re coming with?”

Dean holds up the two tickets. There is another, small possibility, but he doesn’t even want to think it. Sam nods again. “Yeah, if you want me to.”

“Thank you, Sammy. This is awesome!” Dean ignores the hint in Sam’s words and smiles at him. His younger brother doesn’t waste a second to push a present to Cas.

The angel is more careful with the packaging and folds the piece of paper before looking at the book in his lap. Of course it would be a book, what else would the two nerds give each other? Cas smiles one of his rare, wide smiles, even though Dean can’t even recognize the writing on the book’s cover. In return, Cas gives his present to Sam, and just as Dean had suspected, it is another book. Cas’ present is wrapped in actual wrapping paper though, and Sam is as careful with it as Cas had been with the newspaper. When Sam looks at the book cover, his jaw drops.

“Is this a first edition?”

Castiel nods, and Sam’s eyes light up. Dean thinks he can see the cover of the Wizard of Oz, but then again, his younger brother would most likely love every first edition of a book. Or any book, but Cas’ present is still incredibly thoughtful – especially if you only have six weeks of memory to go on for picking a present. Sam gets to his feet and hugs Castiel, and the angel looks as overtaxed as he had five years ago. Dean rescues the angel by shoving his own present into Sam’s hands.

Sam unpacks the gift card to the local whole-wheat-organic-regional-all-natural-whatever store and laughs whole-heartedly. Dean huffs and explains: “This is also a promise from me to go with you. I know how important it is for you, and for this year’s Christmas, you get me trying to care more.”

Sam laughs some more and then hugs Dean, telling him that he really appreciates it. Dean can already tell he will be regretting this. When Sam sits down again, Castiel clears his throat. He is holding an envelope in his hands that has Dean’s name in ornate letters on it. The angel doesn’t give it to him, though.

“This… This isn’t really a present from me, so I think you shouldn’t open it right now. It is… It’s a letter, but… I don’t remember writing it. I still think you should have it.”

Dean swallows hard as he accepts the envelope from the angel. If Castiel doesn’t remember writing this… Then it is from Cas. He has a letter from Cas in his hands. His Cas. Tears are threatening to slip from his eyes, so the clears his throat and gently places the letter on the table.

“Thank you, Castiel. Like, really,” he nods before he passes his own gift to the angel. He is slightly nervous, but confident enough not to get his emergency-exit present in his sock drawer. Castiel opens the small box and carefully pulls out the yellow note. Dean can’t read it from where he’s sitting, but he has thought about the words for a long time. In simple, bold letters it reads “I’m letting go.” Underneath lays the single black feather that Cas had bound to the leather band that night long ago. Dean knows his own feather around Cas’ neck had gotten burned when the angel was hit by the lightning form the witch, since Castiel had some day asked him why Cas had worn a blank leather band. He also knows that Castiel had seen the feather that Dean had refused to take off. And Dean had seen the look of discomfort on Castiel’s face.

Now, the angel looks at him with relief.

“Thank you, Dean.”

The hunter just nods. ‘You’re welcome’ would be the right thing to say, but he can’t get the words over his lips.

///

Castiel leaves the same day. Sam agrees to drive him to a motel a town over, since Cas still can’t fly with his broken wings. Dean stays behind and locks himself in his room with the letter Castiel had given him.

A part of him wants to rip it open and absorb everything Cas had to say, but another part of him wants to put the letter away without even reading it. What if he doesn’t like what Cas had written? But would Castiel have given it to him if he thought he wouldn’t? Had Castiel read the letter before giving it to Dean? The letter isn’t glued, so it is possible.

Dean stares at the envelope a long time before he carefully pulls out the piece of paper and unfolds it. The same letters from the envelope cover the paper. Dean runs his index finger over the lines before he starts reading.

_Dean,_

_humans have to sleep so many hours of the day that I sometimes become impatient. When you lay in bed and I watch you, things I want to say to you come to my head, but I can’t tell you. Well, I could tell you, but you wouldn’t remember._

_You are sleeping right next to me as I write these words. You protested when I got up to find a pen and some paper. Did you know you talk in your sleep? It doesn’t happen a lot, though. Today, you said my name. It is lovely to hear you say it in your sleep, it sounds pure._

The next two half-sentences are crossed out, but still readable.

_ <strike>There was something I needed to ask you, because I</strike> _

_ <strike>Sometimes I wonder if you are aware</strike> _

Some space is left blank before is looks like Cas started over.

_Dean,_

_four days ago, you asked me to marry you. It was the best thing that happened to me in my whole, long life. But you asked as if you were afraid of my response._

_I need you to know that spending the rest of my life with you – however long that might be – is all I will ever want. I need you to never doubt that, because nothing is more true._

_I love you, Dean Winchester._

A tear hits the paper over the word ‘true’. Dean hadn’t noticed he started crying again, but then again, when is he not there days? Dean is sobbing, no longer afraid that somebody might hear him. The piece of paper flutters to the floor as the hunter curls up on his bed and weeps into his pillow.

They couldn’t have known the rest of Cas’ life would only be a couple of days.

///

New Year comes and goes, and Dean starts into the year without Cas. They hadn’t even worked through all their firsts, and they had never guessed that most of them were already their lasts. Sam and Dean hunt a lot, Dean because he needs to keep busy, Sam because he doesn’t want to let Dean out of his sight.

At two occasions he guesses that Sam meets Rowena and Cas out of town, but like he had asked for, Sam doesn’t tell him. Nothing comes from it, either way.

Sam gets hurt on a hunt, but they work through it on their own. It would be easy to call Cas and ask him to heal Sam, and the angel would most likely do it. But neither of them even brings up the option. Dean heals Sam with whatever is left of his powers, but there days he is barely even able to hide his wings. They are in dire condition, anyway, but there’s nothing Dean can do about it. Nothing Dean is willing to do, anyway.

Dean has no idea what Castiel is doing now. He suspects Sam knows, because he spots him texting from time to time, but if he does, he doesn’t tell Dean. And Dean rather has it this way.

///

The day the incident with the witch has been two month ago, Dean hits a bar. He isn’t even sure what he is looking for, but he tells Sam he wants to go alone. He orders a beer and sips it while staring at the game on TV. Two women hit on him, but he barely even notices. When his beer is empty, he pays and leaves the bar without looking back.

In the parking lot he finds a guy staring at his baby. Dean eyes him suspiciously as he heads for the front seat. The dude approaches him before he can slip into the car.

“I’m sorry, but is this a 1967 Chevrolet Impala?” His voice is a mixture of admiration and nostalgy.

“Yes,” Dean nods, a hint of pride in his voice, “yes, it is.”

“Dude!” The man exclaims as he runs a hand over the hood of the car, “This is magnificent! My dad used to drive one, but it got totally crashed in an accident. I haven’t seen one this well kept in ages!”

Dean can’t help but smile at the implied compliment.

“She got into an awful crash, too. Took me a lot of time to get her up and running again.”

“Does she have a name?” The guy grins at him with a raised eyebrow. Dean shrugs his shoulders.

“Aw, well. She goes by Baby most of the times.” The man laughs, but doesn’t look like he judges Dean.

“Sweet,” he chuckles instead, “really nice car. But I have to get going, if I miss the bus I’ll have to walk home.” The guy smiles warmly and turns around. Dean knows he shouldn’t, but it just happens.

“Do you need a ride?”

The dude turns again and smiles. With played reservation he points out: “I shouldn’t ride with strangers. I don’t even know your name!”

“Don’t worry, I’m not into abducting people. Name’s Dean, by the way.” He is surprised how easy the truth slips from his lips. He doesn’t usually give out his real name.

“Pleasure. Dave,” the other man declares with the hint of a bow before he slips into the passenger seat.

Dean shakes his head before he gets in the car. This feels very, very wrong, but oh so good at the same time.

The drive is easy, light. They talk about everything under the sun, and before Dave gets out of the car, he plucks Dean’s phone from the dashboard and types in his number.

“Would be nice to hear from you again,” he smiles and waves. Dean nods and smiles, too, one of his first honest smiles in a while.

When he lays in bed, he thinks about deleting the number. It feels wrong, it feels like cheating, even though there is nobody here to cheat on. In the end, he leaves the number in. The guilt is undisputable, though.

///

He calls Dave two weeks later.

In the morning, he had found Sam at the kitchen table, deep bags under his eyes and in a very cranky mood. When he refuses to explain to Dean what happened, Dean counts two and two together and guesses Sam had been away to try to break Cas’ spell again, and judging from the way he kills his coffee with his looks, it hadn’t worked. Again.

This is the third time Dean is aware of Sam going out, and who knows how many times he didn’t notice Sam sneaking out. He can’t help it, it hurts again.

Calling Dave shouldn’t be his solution, but he does it anyway.

They meet at the same bar, but this time, they go inside. Dean pays for the first beers, Dave for the second round, and they just talk. Not that Dean had ever been a big talker, but with Dave, it is easy. Relaxed. They connect over the car, and over Metallica, and even over their knowledge of guns.

Dean drives Dave home again.

“Do you wanna come inside?” Dave asks with a soft smile when they pull up in front of his apartment.

Dean stutters. “Um…”

“Nothing crazy,” Dave promises with a grin, “just thought it might be nice to finish out discussion over killing a zombie with an axe versus a sword. Might be useful knowledge, you know?”

Dean laughs and follows Dave inside. They talk for another hour and a half before Dean insists he has to get home.

“I would like to do this again,” Dave declares, and Dean nods with a smile. The other man grabs the doorknob, but doesn’t open it.

Dean can see him pause for a moment and gaze at Dean, and the hunter doesn’t move. Then, Dave steps into his space, and Dean freezes. Dave leans in slowly, and the cogs in Dean’s brain are working overtime. Part of his brain cheers and gets excited, while the other half is screaming a name, and it isn’t Dave’s. Just before their lips meet, Dean steps back.

Dave’s eyes widen and his smile drops from his face. Dean stumbles over himself to apologize: “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dave. It’s just… My… I’m still getting over somebody. It isn’t you, god, it’s not you, I-“

The smile is back on Dave’s face as he gently interrupts Dean: “It’s okay, Dean. No pressure. I would still like to see you again, if you want to.” He really doesn’t look offended. Dean is quick to nod. “I would like that, yeah.”

When Dean gets home, he is cranky, too. He and Sam make a great couple that evening.

///

Dave texts Dean the next day.

“Sorry for yesterday, Dean. Didn’t mean to jump the gun”

“Dude, no worries. You couldn’t have known”

“Still recent?”

“2 ½ month. So yeah, guess that counts as recent”

“Sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“You don’t have to listen to me wailing about my ex”

“I don’t mind”

“Are you still hoping?”

“I guess I am, yes. Even though I probably shouldn’t”

“That sucks. But really, take your time. I’d like to see you again”

“Thanks, Dave. I appreciate it!”

///

Two weeks later, it is the middle of the night when the door to Dean’s room gets ripped open and a person storms in. He isn’t even able to pull out his gun in time before the person jumps Dean, burying the hunter under a considerable weight. Dean is about to scream and fight when the smell registers in his mind.

Rain, and fall. No honey, but that is probably from some shampoo.

He croaks, his voice cautious and hoarse from sleep: “Cas?”

“Dean,” the hunter can hear the angel mumble in the croak of his neck. The sound from Dean’s throat is undignified, but it is all Dean manages to do. Then the light on the corridor gets turned on, and it illuminates the dark hair that is close to his face.

“Dean,” the angel mutters repeatedly. The hunter doesn’t do anything, overwhelmed and scared at the same time. Another silhouette appears in the doorway.

“I told him to wake you carefully,” Sam’s voice carries amused through the air. His words finally wake Dean from his stupor. He pushes at Cas’ shoulder, and the man moves back, big eyes staring at Dean. Dean sits up and looks back and forth between Cas and his brother.  
“What…” he stutters, “Is this… Is this real?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughs, and without warning flicks on the light in Dean’s room. The hunter groans and blinks. “Took us long enough, but yes Dean, this is real.”

Dean frees his look from Cas and glances at Sam. “Shit, shit Sam. Thank you. I… Sammy, I…”

“Don’t mention it. Glad it worked. You should send Rowena a fruit basket, though. She really worked hard for this.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Dean breathes, his eyes back on Cas’. The angel’s eyes are no longer blank, his face no longer expressionless or full of pity. They glow, in a way Dean only noticed they just do for him when Cas was gone. Sam laughs.

“I’ll leave you two to it. I’m exhausted anyway. Good night, you two love-birds.”

Dean would throw him an angry look, but right now he can’t be bothered. At least he manages to wish Sam a good night before his brother closes the door, which is more than Cas does.

They just stare at each other for a while, until Dean croaks: “Is this really you, Cas? Like, Cas, not Castiel?”

The angel nods, and there is desperation in his expression. He still nods when he affirms: “All me. I remember, everything. It’s me, Dean.”

Dean sobs, even though he doesn’t understand why. Shouldn’t he be happy and celebrating? Instead tears start rolling as he stares at the angel.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is husky, “Dean, can I hug you?”

The hunter is shaken by another sob before he pleads: “Yes, god yes, please, Cas.”

Their upper bodies crash together and their arms wind around each other. Dean hadn’t known a hug can feel this desperate, but right now he can’t have Cas close enough.

“I can’t believe this is you,” Dean whispers into Cas’s hair. The angel has his face buried in his neck again, but he lifts his head to speak.

“It is,” he promises, “we kissed in Venice, we had sex in the woods next to a rundown diner, and you asked me to marry you in the park we visited on our first date. I remember it all.”

“Shit,” Dean curses under his breath, “Cas, I missed you so much. Damn it, Cas.” He pulls the angel closer, glad that he can’t hurt him because it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Cas’ next words are barely audible as he mumbles them into Dean’s skin, especially with Dean still crying like a baby. Dean does hear them, though.

“Will you take me back?”

“What?!” Dean all but yells and yanks the angel from his chest. He is alarmed to find Cas’ eyes watery, the only other time that he can think of where he had seen Cas cry was when possessed Dean had tortured him with the angel blade.

“How is that even a question, Cas? Yes, yes of course!” A single sob shakes Cas, but is contradicted by a smile spreading on his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” The angel whispers, and Dean grabs him by the shoulders.

“Cas,” he mumbles and leans his forehead against the angel’s, “as far as I’m concerned, I would like to pick up right where we left off. Kissing, hugging, everything, if you’re okay with that.”

“Yes,” Cas breathes before he closes the small gap between their lips. Dean sighs into Cas and melts, the angel’s lips working wonders on all the wounds from the last three months. His hands roam Cas’ back and find his wings, and he gently threads his fingers into the soft feathers. The angel hums and nudges against his shoulders. Dean ignores it for a moment and focuses on kissing Cas, until the angel pulls back with a worried look on his face.

“Are you not okay with showing your wings?” He looks behind the hunter and understanding spreads on his face as he spots the torn wings.

Dean pulls a grimace and tries to explain: “They’re kinda ugly right now. And it is really exhausting for me to shift them between realities.”

Cas’ eyes widen as he understands: “I’m so sorry Dean, you ran out of… of… juice?”

Dean giggles at Cas’ words, but nods with a sigh. “Yeah. I mean, you… Castiel-you offered to help, but… I didn’t want it. Don’t want it without you.”

If he isn’t mistaken, Cas might be delighted by that declaration. Then he looks around the room. “If you get your pocketknife, you can drink some blood right now. It will help.”

Dean grins shamelessly as he pulls Cas closer by his shirt. “I can think of more entertaining ways to get me hooked on angel juices again.”

The angel raises his eyebrows, but smiles. “Are you up for that?”

“I have been waiting for three months.” The hunter simply states, and Cas whispers “Me, too,” before they sink into another kiss. It starts out as chaste as their first one, but soon enough Dean licks over Cas’ lower lip and the angel invites him in with a sigh. Dean lays down on the bed and pulls Cas back on top of him, savoring the sensation of Cas’ weight on his body. His hands sink back into the feathers and the angel hums appreciatively, working his own hands in Dean’s hair. Dean licks into Cas’ mouth, exploring it all over again after their way too long break from kissing. The angel seems to get impatient and pulls the jacket of his suit off, throwing it somewhere to the side. Slightly guilty Dean notices that Cas’ trench coat is still hidden in one of his drawers. But right now, he plans on getting the angel out of his clothes, not into more of them.

He starts fumbling with the buttons on Cas’ shirt while the angel kicks his shoes off the bed (he must have been in a real hurry from the time he entered the bunker to not even have taken off his shoes, but Dean doesn’t mind at all at the moment). The angel pulls him into a sitting position once his shirt is gone and grabs the hem of Dean’s, tugging it off in one fluid motion. As soon as it is off, they clash their lips together again, no finesse, all desperation and need. Dean lets his hands wander down Cas’ back until they land on his butt, and he squeezes with a sigh. Cas’ hands are everywhere at once, in his hair, on his back, on his stomach, Dean doesn’t know how the angel does it, but it feels awesome. He only notices now how much he has missed about Cas, the smell of his skin, the soft sounds he makes while kissing, the impatient drag of his fingers down to his boxers.

He untangles from Cas long enough to hiss “Make the rest vanish.” Cas looks at him with wonder for a moment, but doesn’t need more convincing. A split second later their pants are gone, Cas sitting naked in Dean’s lap. The hunter moans and grabs Cas’ ass again, kneading the naked skin under his hands.

“I’ve missed you so damn much,” he mumbles when they break apart for air, “these were some of the worst months in my life.”  
“I’m sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry,” Cas whispers and kisses the hunters jaw, down his neck and along his collarbone.

“Not your fault,” Dean breathes, grabbing a fist full of feathers, “just don’t leave again, okay? Don’t leave…”

“I won’t,” Cas promises and lifts his head to stare into Dean’s eyes. “I won’t leave. Never again.”

“Good,” Dean mumbles and dives for another kiss, their tongues dancing and licking into the other’s mouth, tasting, savoring each other. When Dean is certain he is going to faint if he doesn’t stop for some air, he leans down to kiss Cas’ chest, not touching the flashback-inducing spots on the angel’s neck. Cas’ skin is hot against his lips as he questions: “Will you move back in?”

Cas doesn’t hesitate: “Yes. Yes, I will move back in.”

“Move in with me,” Dean proposes, sucking a bruise into Cas’ shoulder. The angel sucks in a sharp breath. “Please,” the hunter adds, “I want you here. In my room, with me. There’s enough space for both of us. You spent most nights here anyway.”

“Yes, yes, I would love to,” Cas nods enthusiastically. He steals another kiss from Dean before he adds: “I will have to get some things from the motel, though.”

“Tomorrow,” Dean decides and pointedly pushes his hips upward, his hard dick pressing against Cas.

“Tomorrow,” the angel agrees moaning and his hand wanders down Dean’s chest. The hunter gasps audibly when Cas’ fingertips touch his dick and his hips buck up out of their own accord. He gabs the angel’s butt tight and pulls him close, urging him to rub against Dean. Cas moves closer and let’s go of Dean’s dick in favor of pressing their erections together, trapped between their bodies.

Dean moans and rests his forehead against Cas’ shoulder, overwhelmed by the situation. As if Cas can sense it, the angel places soft kisses on his head while he slowly rolls his hips, creating delicious friction between their dicks.

“I love you,” he whispers, repeatedly, “I love you, Dean.”

“Love you too, Cas,” Dean breathes, “I need you inside of me.”

The angel runs a hand over his back and pulls him closer, still rubbing their dicks together. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” Dean responds breathlessly, “If you want to, yes.”

“Of course I want to,” Cas whispers, “I just want you to be comfortable. With all the time and-“

Dean interrupts the angel with a determined tug at his feathers. “’m certain, Cas. Now. Please.”

The angel groans and either his doubt or his ability to withhold crumbles. He gets up and rummages through the nightstand, reemerging with the bottle of lube. Dean has turned onto his stomach by the time Cas climbs back on the bed, but the angel pulls on his side.

“No, Dean, turn around please. I need to see you. Need to look at you.”

Dean nods and rolls over, spreading his legs in an invitation for Cas to sit between. Cas leans over him and starts to kiss his body, from his forehead down to his thighs. Dean sighs contently, feeling calm for the first time in a while. He runs a hand through Cas’ hair, ruffling away the weird flat hairstyle Castiel had worn. Cas’ wet mouth around his dick takes him by surprise and he arches his back into the sensation, suddenly aware that this might be over pretty quickly after three months of celibacy. Cas moves on to his balls though and pushes Dean’s legs up. The hunter hooks his hands under his knees. He hisses as Cas’ tongue licks warm against his hole and he can feel the angel smile. His tongue probes him a couple more times before it gets replaced by a single, slippery finger that pushes into him. Dean moans and pushes back, eager to feel Cas inside him. The angel moves back up with his mouth, sucking a bruise into Dean’s hip while his finger is twisting and turning inside Dean. The hunter’s mind is still wandering.

“Marry me, Cas.” His voice hitches when Cas’ finger rubs against his inner walls.

“I am quite certain you are not supposed to ask that during intercourse.” The angel teases.

“Your fiancé is also not supposed to forget about you for three months,” Dean points out, even though his argument would be more impressive if he wasn’t moaning.

Cas stops moving, to the displeasure of Dean, and looks up. “You never called me that.”

“I didn’t have a lot of time to adjust to the though,” Dean sighs and wiggles under Cas’ hand. The angel takes the hint and gently starts pushing in a second finger.

“You never even called me your boyfriend, and you had plenty of time to adjust to that.”

“Are you saying you would have wanted to hear me say it more often?”

Cas takes a moment to think, and Dean moans into the pleasure of the angel scissoring his fingers. He pushes back against the angel.

“I would like to hear you say it, yes,” Cas eventually concludes. Dean nods impatiently.

“All right,” he grins, “I can do that. Cas, I suppose from what we are doing that you are still okay with being my boyfriend,” as if to agree with Dean, Cas pushes in a third finger and Dean moans before he is able to continue. His voice sounds more strained now, less smug, “but are you still up to be my fiancé?”

Cas smiles as if he is soaking up the words. “Absolutely,” he then declares, “I definitely still want to marry you.”

“Great. Then one day, I might even call you my husband.” Dean’s face is turning red, but somehow, he doesn’t feel as ashamed saying things like this when Cas is three fingers deep in his ass. The angel hums, or maybe he moans, Dean can’t quite tell. Then he asks:  
“Are you done talking and ready to have sex?”

“I can do both at the same time,” Dean responds cockily, to which Cas raises an eyebrow.

“I doubt that,” he answers, and Dean has fucking missed Cas’ dominant tendencies in bed.

“Show me I’m wrong, then,” he grins, and Cas leans down to kiss him. Their kiss quickly grows heated and Dean hears the bottle of lube pop open. Only moments after Cas’ cock presses against his asshole, and yeah, maybe Cas was right and this is pretty distracting. The angel goes slowly, too slow for Dean’s liking.

“Damn it, Cas, I don’t want to wait another three months. Move!”

Cas pulls up his eyebrows, playing offended by Dean’s remark, pushes harder. But Dean suddenly loses his patience, overwhelmed by the need to have Cas now and fast, and he pulls at the angel until Cas is on his back, staring up at him in confusion, and Dean is squatting over him. He takes the angel’s wet, thick cock in his hand and gives it a couple of strokes until Cas is moaning, and then he aligns it with his hole. He sinks down faster than he should, but the burn is good, he feels alive and full, and fuck has he missed that. Without waiting for his muscles to adjust he starts moving, grabbing Cas’ thigh for support as he pulls up and sinks down again.

Cas groans loudly and his hands dig into Dean’s hips, helping him find a rhythm.

“You are enjoyably needy after three months,” Cas remarks, and Dean scowls at him:

“Don’t you dare ever make me wait that long to have this again. Enjoy it now.”

“I would never,” Cas smiles smugly, “but this is awe-inspiring.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bother to commentate on Cas’ choice of words. He had missed it too much to even tease him about it. The angel runs the tips of his fingers down Dean’s stomach and curls them around Dean’s dick, stroking him in rhythm with Dean moving on his cock. He rubs his thumb over the slit and collects the precum leaking down. Dean groans and sinks down faster, admitting: “Cas, I won’t last much longer if you keep that up.”

“That’s good,” the angel breathes with a smile, “I’m pretty desperate myself.”

“Oh yes,” Dean moans, “then cum, Cas. Let me have it, come on.” Cas gasps and starts thrusting up as Dean moves down, and with the shift of the angle Cas hits that sweet spot in Dean’s guts. Dean yelps, his hand tightening his grip in Cas’ thigh.

“Just like that, Cas, please,” he mumbles while the angel repeats his name. Cas thrusts up, and his cock draws deliciously against Dean’s prostate. His fingernails dig into Cas’ skin as he comes on the next stroke, his muscles clamping down on the angel’s cock up his ass. Cum pulses from his dick and over Cas’ fingers, and his thighs start shaking as his orgasm draws out. The angel thrusts up a couple more times into Dean’s ass before he joins Dean, the hunter still entrapped in his own orgasm, spurred on by the hot liquid filling his ass. They stay like that even after they have come down from their high, catching their breath while relishing in the afterglow.

A whole lot later Dean carefully pulls off and flops down next to Cas, an arm wrapped around the angel’s waist. Before he can blink, Cas has cleaned them up and kisses his forehead.

“You’re really here,” is the first thing he manages to say. Cas laughs.

“I am. And I’m not leaving, since you just asked me to move in and marry you. Hope you’re still up for that even after you orgasmed.”

Dean rolls his eyes and fondly smiles at Cas. “I’m still on board. Can I give you your ring back?”

A pang of guilt flashes over Cas’ eyes, but it is quickly gone.

“I would love the ring back, Dean.”

Dean smiles and lazily turns until he can reach the small box on his nightstand. He then sits up, fumbling the two rings out of their dents. Cas leans against the headboard, an expression on his face Dean can’t interpret. He stares at the angel for a moment, then decides that life is too short to keep guessing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Cas sighs quietly before he elaborates: “I guess I’m… stunned. I broke your heart, and I know I did, because I was there and I saw it. And now I’m back, and not only do you kiss me and sleep with me and take me back with open arms, but you ask me to marry you within an hour? I don’t know how to process that.”

Dean places the box back on the nightstand before he moves up and as close to Cas as he can without directly climbing in his lap. “Cas,” he mumbles sadly, “I know you blame yourself for many things that happen around you, but you can’t take the blame for this. I don’t blame you. And so, yeah, I have no trouble being absolutely ecstatic about having you back. In my bed, naked, and ready to take a ring from me. Hell, I would probably do the same if it was your fault, but it just isn’t, okay?”

Cas smiles, and after a moment he slowly nods. “Okay.”

“All right. Then, hand please.” Dean holds up his own and waits for Cas to reach out. The angel rolls his eyes: “Such a romantic.”

“Sorry, boyfriend,” Dean grins, “guess you’re stuck with unromantic me.” He slips the ring back on Cas’ finger.

“You’re lucky I don’t mind,” Cas responds fondly and takes the other ring to put it on Dean’s hand just as unceremoniously. The kiss they share is nothing but sweet and gentle.

“I fucking love you, Cas,” Dean mumbles into the angel’s mouth and Cas responds with something that is probably meant to say “I love you, too.” They stay like that for a long time, just breathing each other’s air and touching.

“So…” Cas probes after a while, “If I’ve got my ring back, do I also get my coat back?” Dean laughs out loud. “Only if I get to borrow it when it smells like you.”

Cas pulls him into his arms and whispers: “But you don’t need my close to smell me, Dean. I’m staying right here.”

Half an eternity later Dean checks his phone for the time and finds a message from Dave.

“Hey Dean. This is really awful to say, but I am back with my ex. So… You know, off the market. But I wish you all the best, I enjoyed our time together.”

Dean smiles as he types out a quick response.

“Congratulations, Dave! I might actually just have gotten my fiancé back, too. But thanks for our time together.”

“What has you smiling?” Asks Cas when Dean turns back to him. The hunter kisses him before he whispers:  
“That there is always hope, no matter how bad things are looking.”

///

Dean and Cas are like glued together from that night on. Sam does grin about it, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. The only time they seem to spend apart is when Dean needs to use the bathroom. But they all easily fall back into their life from four month prior, from the joint breakfast in the morning down to the research in the library or the playful banter about the show they are going to watch in the evening.

Cas even comes with them when they drive to the local all-organic-regional-and-so-on-and-so-forth-store. And while he is less excited about it than Sam, he appreciates it more than Dean does – even though the older Winchester tries to be nice about it.

When Dean helps Sam work through his shopping list, Cas wanders off, browsing through the store. Dean turns and looks for him from where he’s standing, but he can’t spot him. Still throwing gazes over his shoulder he bags the seven tomatoes Sam had ordered him to get (“Seven, Sammy, really? That’s an oddly specific number, what if the tomatoes are all really small today?” – “Shut up and get eight if it makes you happy!”) and moves on to the mushrooms. He picks out some that he likes best, crumbling the paper back when he is done and slipping it into Sam’s basket. Before he can ask Sam what he should do next, the younger Winchester eyes him with sympathy:

“Go after him, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t have to ask him to elaborate, because he is obviously not as discrete about it as he thought he was.

“It’s fine, he’s a grown man.”

“Yeah, and so am I,” Sam smiles, “I can pick out a cucumber by myself, you go and stick to one another for a few days.”

Dean groans but leaves Sam in the produce section in favor of following Cas. He finds him between rakes and flowerpots, crouching in front of the different kinds of seeds. Dean’s lips turn upwards out of their own accord and he strolls over to the angel, resting one hand on his shoulder when he reaches him. Cas’ hand covers his as he wonders out loud:

“Do you think we would be able to grow plants at the bunker?”

Dean chuckles: “I have no idea, last thing I grew was probably a bunch of cress for a school project back as a teenager. You are the one who keeps his plant alive without sunlight.”

The angel stands up and takes Dean’s hand into his own. He scrunches his face as he admits: “I help that plant to survive. It can’t photosynthesize down in the bunker, so I have to keep it alive.”

The hunter laughs so hard he leans his head back and is even more delighted when he sees the small smile on Cas’ lips.

“And here I was thinking you had the greenest thumb for a year.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Nah, I like you being a plant magician just as well.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the kind of soul-devouring look that gives Dean goosebumps. Cas’ eyes are glowing again, pulling him in and opening up.

Dean is surprised himself when the words tumble from his lips: “Let’s get out for a couple of days. Just you and me, some time alone. In a hotel with a pool, or on the beach, maybe just take baby and drive to see where we end up. I know this is really sappy, but I just want to not leave your side for a while.” When he finishes, he is staring at their joined hands, his cheeks reddening. The thought just came to him out of the blue, but he now realizes how much he wishes for Cas to say yes.

The tiniest smile is forming the angel’s lips when he firmly states: “I would like that very much.”

The stupidest grin on his face, Dean pulls Cas into a hug.

///

“Cas and I both have our phones, so call us if something – anything at all comes up, don’t take any risks because you think you might be bothering us, and-“

“Just go already!” Sam grins and more or less shoves his older brother into the impala. Dean grumbles, but slides behind the wheel. Sam leans down to wave at Cas, who is patiently sitting in the passenger seat with the hint of a smile on his lips.

“See you in a bit, don’t get arrested for public indecency, you hear me?”

“Oh shut up,” Dean playfully growls, while Cas tilts his head in bewilderment. The older brother can see Sam still laughing when he disappears behind a curve in the road. A feeling of utter peace settles in his stomach as he turns on the radio and drives past the sign announcing that they are leaving Lebanon.

“All right,” he cheers, “where do you want to go?”

“I’m good with wherever you are.” Cas states and Dean rolls his eyes with a fond smile.

“We could have stayed in the bunker for that.”

“Right,” Cas nods seriously, “Um, how about north?”

“North it is,” Dean agrees and eyes the map on his phone. “Well, looks like we’ve been already driving in the wrong direction.”

He laughs as he turns the car around. Cas tells him that south is good as well, but Dean insists that they have all the time in the world.

He feels free and calm, like nothing can ruin this for him. He takes Cas’ hand as they drive onto the highway, nothing to do but to be together for the time being.

///

“Can we stop here?” Cas asks about four hours later, looking out of the window on Missouri River, dividing Nebraska from South Dakota.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean nods and pulls off the highway at the next exit.

They end up parking Baby and taking the chance to stretch their legs. They walk through the woods close to the river until they reach the riverbank and find themselves a big rock to sit on. The nature is blooming around them, wildflowers lining the river in dark, healthy grass. Birds are singing in the trees and some squirrels are apparently playing catch. The air around them is wet and smells like spring, even though it is only mid-January.

The silence with Cas sitting next to him is one of the rare, comfortable kind. They don’t need to talk constantly to enjoy each other’s presence. The angel is so close that their legs are touching, and Dean can feel his vessel radiating heat. Cas is watching the river flow and the insects fly around them, looking content. Usually Dean would be antsy from nervous energy, but the angel has a calming effect on him. It does Dean good, grounds him. And he needs it after the constant tension over the last few months.

“Will you let me take care of your wings?” Cas’ question is cautious, like he is expecting Dean to shut him down.

“Cas, they are a mess. Last time I had them out, I lost feathers in piles and had countless bare spots. You should wait for them to regenerate a bit longer so that they’re less nasty.”

“It must feel really unpleasant. I want to help and don’t mind the state of your wings. Please, Dean.”

The hunter looks at Cas with wonder: “Is this important to you?”

The angel sighs, his gaze following a bird on the other side of the river. “It is. I feel responsible and I know how bad they must feel. I just want to do something nice for you.” His eyes find Dean’s, and the hunter is reminded of Sam’s puppy-eye look. “I really want to help.”

Dean leans in for a slow kiss. He brings his forehead to Cas’ and murmurs: “It is not your fault, Cas. But if you really want to, I would appreciate your help.” The angel’s eyes lighten up.

“Then let’s find a place to stay for the night. And we’ll need to stop at a store.”

“A store?” Dean echoes and eyes Cas curiously.

“I want to get some oil.”

The hunter just raises his eyebrows, his question unspoken.

“I suspect your wings are no longer being provided with natural oils to upkeep themselves, so rubbing them with oil will help them regenerate.”

“Oh.” Dean shrugs his shoulders. He won’t say no to Cas massaging him with oil.

They stay a bit longer, enjoying the sight, until Dean starts shivering from the cold winter air. They find themselves a motel, one slightly better than those they would stay at for their usual hunts, and Cas unpacks the coconut oil (They had stood in front of the sunflower oil first, but Dean insisted he wouldn’t want to feel like he was about to be fried).

“Can you materialize them?” Cas gestures to the dark shadows on Dean’s back and the hunter nods with a sigh.

“Sure. It just feels like I have to carry a rock up ten flights of stairs. Not that it would make you break a sweat.”

The angel rolls his eyes. “I have been human; I have a general idea of the strength one possesses.”

“Yeah… but most of your lifetime you can lift an anvil onehandedly.” Dean teases. Cas’ eyes gleam somewhat predatory and he grins.

“I can. And I’m quite certain you like the fact that I am able to.” Before Dean has the chance to reply, he finds himself lifted up with one arm around his waist.

“Hey,” he protests and struggles against Cas’ grip while the angel calmly carries him over to the bed as if he weighed nothing, “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

“I don’t think you are right now.” The angel grins at him with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Dean huffs and stops struggling against the iron grip around his body, instead ruffling Cas’ hair. “You’re possessive today.” Cas just shrugs, still smiling, and lets him down on the bed.

Dean takes the chance to move freely to take off his jacket and shirt, throwing them across the room in the general direction of the chair at the desk. Then he closes his eyes and works on shifting his wings into reality.

His efforts get interrupted when he feels a hand between his shoulder blades, slowly rubbing his skin. Den sighs and tries to focus again, surprised when he can feel the wings a lot clearer than before. It still takes him a moment to move them into this plane of reality, but it is a lot easier than the last time he tried. He highly suspects that Cas is cheating somehow, but at the same time he is really glad it hadn’t hurt.

His wings unfurl around him, and instantly loose feathers fly through the air and land on the bedsheets. Dean eyes them sadly, noticing that they have all lost that shimmer of grace that is usually left in a plucked feather. His are obviously dying off.

He can feel Cas gently roam his hands along the bone of his wings, and more feathers are sent flying to the ground. The hunter’s voice is gloomy as he asks:

“Will they all fall out?”

“No,” Cas assures him, but his voice sounds strained, “a lot of them still look healthy. But you were right, I really wasn’t able to see the amount of damage your wings suffered. I am truly sorry, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean turns around and with that pulls his wings from Cas’ hands, “I will only accept your help if you stop blaming yourself, do you hear me?”

The angel slowly nods. Dean takes that as his hint to lay on his stomach, folding up his wings on his back. He sighs and rests his head on his folded arms when Cas starts stroking his wings, working out all the loose feathers from between the ones that are still healthy. It feels relieving, lifting some of the weight of his wings, even though the feathers can’t weigh that much. The angel works precisely, but still manages to sneak in loving touches here and there. Dean nods off once or twice, lulled in by the easing of tension in his wings and his mood.

He barely registers the sound of the coconut oil being opened, but the feeling of the oil being massaged into his feathers notices strongly. Dean hums, arching his back into Cas’ hands and the angle chuckles quietly. The hunter is reminded of drinking some water after being thirsty for hours, feeling his feathers soak up the oil and softening. Cas takes his time, making sure each feather gets some of the oil to recover from the last few months.

After a while, Dean is quite certain than Cas is done, but the angel continues stroking his wings. His fingers rub the sore muscles at the bony frame, relaxing them after holding much more weight than they should for so long.

Dean chuckles eventually: “You trying to get me to sleep?”

“Am I boring you?”

“No,” Dean is quick to assure, “’t is just really relaxing. I think I’m going to melt under your fingers.”

He can hear the smile in Cas’ voice as the angel runs his hands down the wings a final time. Dean reluctantly sits up, wanting to see the angel.

Cas’ mumbles quietly: “I’m just happy to see you so… calm. And happy. I dislike the memory of… The last months.”

Dean sighs. “Cas… How long are you going to hold that over your own head?”

“As long as it takes me to forget the way you looked at me. It… I could see how broken you were in your eyes. And I am deeply ashamed that I didn’t do something, missing my memory or not. And that day I found you out in the woods, your hands all bloody and-“

“Cas,” the hunter tries for the softest voice he can muster and pulls the angel to his bare chest. He mumbles into the angel’s hair: “It’s over. It’s good now. I’m good.”

Cas’s words are barely a whisper: “But you were so miserable.”

“I was,” Dean agrees, “can’t deny it. But, and Cas, this is important, so you better listen, you can’t make it undone by feeling miserable yourself now.” The angel wants to say something, but Dean ignores him. “It happened, I wish it didn’t, but I’m okay with moving on now. I just need you to do it, too, Cas, please. Let’s not be miserable for the sake of the past.”

Cas is silent for a long time, his face hidden in the crock of Dean’s neck. The hunter can feel his breath irregularly against his skin and wonders if Cas is crying without tears. He brushes his fingers through the other man’s hair, trying to provide comfort while waiting for him to sort out his thoughts and feelings. When the angel speaks up, he sounds shaky.

“You are right. I need to let it go. I’m not doing anyone any good like this.”

Dean rubs Cas’ back. “I’m not asking you to forget. But don’t let what happened determine the present, okay? I’m so glad to have you back, I’m fucking ecstatic. I’m good, I mean I’m really good now. Believe me?”

Cas looks up and tilts his head, eyeing Dean as if he is searching for something. Then he nods.

Dean smiles and cups his cheek, his thumb stroking Cas’ face:

“Good. That’s good. We can work with that. Now how about I massage your wings with that surprisingly well smelling oil.”

“You don’t need to-“

“Shut up and take off your shirt.” Dean kisses his angel sweetly before he helps undressing him.

///

A couple of days later he wakes up to lips on his forehead, trailing small kisses down his cheek and to his neck.

Dean mumbles something incoherently, not sure if he wants to get back to sleep for a while longer.

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

At that, the hunter blinks into the dimly lit hotel room. Cas is at his side, smiling. He is wearing one of Dean’s flannels and a washed-out jeans, a sight Dean likes very much.

“I have something I want to give you.”

“And that couldn’t wait?” Dean teases Cas while yawning and the angel plays along.

“For what?”

“Breakfast, for example?”

The angel tilts his face as if he is considering it, then he shakes his head. “No, not an option.”

Dean pretends to grumble as he sits up against the headboard while Cas picks up something from the nightstand. Dean recognizes the small box.

“This is just symbolic,” Cas explains, “but I want you to have it back. I know it meant a lot to you, and I hope it can be like that again.”

Dean carefully accepts the little case and takes out the shimmering black feather. The yellow note is still in the box, but Dean’s clear letters

I’M LETTING GO

are appended by an ornate handwriting:

_Reel me back in._

Dean runs his index finger over the words and has to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t think you’d even keep it.”

“I don’t really know why Castiel-me kept it. But I’m glad he did.”

“Me, too.” Dean strokes the feather, noting with relief that the trace of Cas’ grace is still there. He is blinking free from his thoughts when Cas speaks again.

“I don’t know if you kept the leather band, but I thought an upgrade would be appropriate either way.” The angel holds out a simple leather necklace with an actual clasp and a pendant to attach something. Next to it dangles a small, filigree silver wing. Dean takes it and turns the wing between his fingers.

“Neat. It looks a lot like your wings.” He murmurs and carefully fixes the feather next to it before putting it around his neck. With a soft smile he tugs it underneath his shirt.

“Thanks, Cas. This is awesome. I really missed it.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

A thought comes to Deans mind. “Have you gotten a second necklace? For yourself?”

“No,” Cas states calmly, “your feather got singed by the witch. There was nothing left of it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t the only one. I have some more on my back.”

The angel smiles. “I don’t want to take a feather from you at the moment. Maybe when your wings have recovered, but it would just cause you unnecessary pain right now. And I have the ring.” He holds up his hand, the red line shimmering with Dean’s heartbeat on the display. The hunter nods.

“All right. No more feather plucking for now. Have to admit, I’m not terribly upset about that.”

Cas chuckles.

“Now how about you put on some clothes, Dean. There is a pie factory about an hour from here where I would like to take you for breakfast.”

Dean’s face lights up. “Pie for breakfast? Cas, you are awesome.”

///

The impala rumbles back into the hotel’s parking lot as the sun is setting. Dean’s cheeks are hurting from all the smiling over the course of the day, but it could be something he could get used to. He fumbles for the keys to their room.

Dean is halfway at the entrance to the hotel when Cas calls him back.

“Dean, there is one last thing before we go back.”

“I thought the last thing will be in our room.” Dean wiggles his eyebrows and laughs at how unimpressed Cas is. The angel replies:

“Come with me. Let us get a better view of the sunset.”

Cas drags him away from the entrance, around the building and further until they have a halfway unobstructed view at the small lake nearby. Dean had suspected Cas had picked the hotel for a reason.

Dean climbs to sit onto one of the picknick tables, and after giving him a indecipherable look Cas even joins him.

“This is nice,” Dean smiles after a while, watching the sun dip down behind the scattered trees. The angel sighs.

“This isn’t actually what I meant. I guess I am… stalling.”

Dean’s eyebrows are close to touching his hairline as he turns to observe Cas. The angel isn’t looking at him, his face as composed as ever.  
“What could have you, Angel of the Lord, play for time? Now I’m extra curious.”

Cas scrunches his face in the most adorable way, and it nearly distracts Dean from his confusion. The angel doesn’t help his train of thoughts when he suddenly turns to Dean and presses their lips together, his kiss almost searching for something, testing. The hunter returns the kiss with Cas’ words on his mind first, but eventually eases into it. Cas seems to relax with him, and Dean pulls him closer by his hips. He expects Cas’ hands to roam over his body in one way or another and is caught off guard when a hand takes his instead, pulling it from the angel’s hip. For a moment Dean is afraid he might have done something wrong, but the continuous determined lips against his own convince him otherwise. Dean lets Cas guide his hand up, and before he can think about it his palm is cautiously pressed against the side of Cas’ neck.

The hunter utters a surprised noise and makes a move to pull away from Cas’ lips, but the angel’s second hand holds him close, not granting him enough space.

“Please stay close,” the angel whispers against his mouth and presses Dean’s hand to his neck again before his own joins the second one in Dean’s hair.

The hunter kisses him gently and parts his lips when Cas’ tongue taps them, and he holds the hand still in the place Cas has put it. Dean remembers the last time he had touched Cas’ neck and the way he had almost fallen face first onto his bed as he caught Cas by surprise, and he really doesn’t want to risk hitting his forehead on the picknick table, even though Cas technically isn’t able to fly at the moment. Maybe he just doesn’t want to scare Cas more than he already is.

The angel slowly relaxes into the kiss, making it appear less like he is searching for acceptance and more simply enjoying the touches. When Dean feels like the angel is okay with his hand at his neck, he gently strokes the soft skin with his thumb. He notices the angel swallow, but Cas doesn’t tell him to stop. They pull apart eventually, and Dean is surprises by the amount of affection he spots on Cas’ face.

“Kiss me,” Cas whispers, and the words vibrate against Dean’s hand. He presses his hand against Cas’ neck in a questioning manner, and the angel nods. Dean doesn’t move.

“Are you… are you sure, Cas?” His words are as quiet as the angel’s had been.

“Yes. Yes, I want to show you how much I trust you. How much I love you.”

“Cas…” Dean’s voice is warm, “I… I know that without you being thrown into a panic attack. I appre-“

“I’m not in panic,” Cas interrupts him, “I want this. Please.”

Dean stares at the angel for a while, observing the blue eyes looking back at him. With a nod he then slowly leans closer, pressing soft kisses to Cas’ cheek and along his jaw. Even though Cas has enough time to pull back, Dean feels more worried than Cas himself apparently does. He follows Cas’ jaw line all the way back to his ear before he dips lower, his lips barely brushing the soft skin of the angel’s neck. He lingers for a second, then he pulls back. Cas has his eyes closed, his face relaxed, but concentrated. His eyes flutter open when Dean asks:  
“How do you feel?”

The angel’s lips slowly curve into a smile.

“Good. I feel good. I wanted to do this for a while.”

Dean observes him for a moment, then he slowly nods. The smile drops from Cas’ face.

“Is this… Is this unpleasant for you? I thought you might enjoy it, but,” Dean tries to speak up, but the angel just talks over him, “if this isn’t nice for you, I apologize. You don’t have to-“

“Cas!” Dean finally raises his voice over the angel’s, “breathe, please. It’s good. It’s really good. I’m just… stunned, you know? I would have never asked this from you.”

Cas takes a shaky breath as he nods. “So if I asked you to kiss me again..?”

An affectionate smile spreads on Dean’s face, and holding eye contact as long as possible he leans in again, giving Cas time to move back before his lips meet Cas’ neck. The angel seems to hold his breath, but doesn’t pull away, and when Dean continues his barely-there kisses Cas even tilts his head to make more room. A shiver runs down Dean’s spine, he presses one last kiss to the skin and whispers “I love you,” into Cas before he sits back up.

The angel’s breathing is shaky, but he looks happy, maybe even proud. Dean pulls him into a hug. “I love you,” he murmurs again, burying his nose in Cas’ hair and inhaling his scent. The smell of honey is back, now that the angel is taking showers for fun again.

“I love you, too,” Cas declares, “very much so.”

They stay like that until the sun has vanished behind the horizon, and until Cas suggests:

“Now how about we take this back to our room?”

Dean doesn’t have to be asked twice.

**Author's Note:**

> As a started writing this work a lot of my current struggle with my day to day life poured into this work and I just kept writing as a form of coping. This is one of the first works I really just wrote for myself, but I thought I'd still share it, maybe someone can enjoy it.
> 
> And with this work, the series has reached over 100k! I can't believe it, but I am extremely happy about it. Thank you to everyone who has actually worked their way through the whole thing, I love you guys!


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